Thursday, January 10, 2013

When I ordered my salad today at lunch, in English, of course, one of the cafeteria employees came over and asked me, in Spanish, of course, why I didn't order in Spanish. My response, in English, of course, is that I don't speak Spanish.
Then he asked where I was born. As I shift my weight from foot to foot like an impatient child, I tell him I was born here. Then he says, "No, your father, where was he born?" Reflexively I say "Puerto Rico" and he nods like I've just solved a puzzle.
At this point did I ask myself, "How does he know it was my father, and not my mother?" No, because I'm not quick thinking like that.
He said, "But your kids, they speak Spanish, right?" and I said, "No" instead of "What in the hell do you know about my kids you stalker?!"
Did I ask myself, "How does this guy even know I have kids?" No, because it didn't really creep me out till I left.

He went on to tell me that all but 2 workers there are Mexican, and in 10 years, I'll have to speak Spanish to get a better job. Cause in my sweater dress and pearls, I obviously look like I empty bedpans for a living.

But he was very serious. He wasn't trying to be creepy, he was just trying to share some knowledge.